Puzzled

I used to hold a lot of hate in my heart,

a lot of fear in my mind,

a lot of  pain under my skin.

I would pretend to know all the answers

when I didn’t know the questions.

Shutting down, breaking down,

my voice turned to the lowest volume

-a whisper-

crying out with words that were hard to decipher.

I am a puzzle that isn’t quite finished.

Some pieces still lost, misplaced,

in the hands of people I may not know yet and

hidden in situations that I have yet to cross.

Somewhere between this fucked up reality and my realistic imagination

there’s a point of solitude that I am still trying to find.

We, humans, you, I,

are a species that are in need of companionship.

We need a hand to hold,

a friend to call,

a lover to love.

Someone to push out the words when you’re pushing away

and to help find who we are within each other.

There’s a book people like that says there is a God.

Says that this God made us in his image-

a finished experiment of a collision of perfect imperfections.

If this is so, how can I say that I am anything less than beautiful?

Than perfect?

To come to terms with myself, I believe,

I have to come to terms with God.

One of the biggest sins I commit is the hate I feel for myself.

Because how can one love thy neighbor if one cannot love thy self?

Someday, I hope, I’ll wear the headdress of an angel and

dance with my father in the sky-

the dance I never got on this earth.

But, first, I need to let go of the hate in my heart,

to feel-understand-love,

and to collect the pieces of my own puzzle.